


Just a Game

by ReaperRain



Series: Just a Series [5]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Anal Sex, Double Penetration, Dubious Consent, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Slash, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-20
Updated: 2012-03-20
Packaged: 2017-11-02 06:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/366128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReaperRain/pseuds/ReaperRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Original DA K!Meme prompt: I'd like to see M!Hawke and his male LI visiting Jethann. Bonus points for male DP, super extra bonus points if Jethann is NOT the bottom. :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just a Game

**JUST A GAME**

-

Six months had passed, and the arrangement between Orsino and Ciardha Hawke was still ongoing. It was also, despite Orsino's initial fears, still secret; he heard many rumours, wild and varied, about the Champion's intimate exploits, but none of them involved him. How no-one had spotted the frequent trips to the Gallows was beyond him, and yet Hawke managed to slip in and out without detection, templar or otherwise. With Meredith's grip growing ever tighter around the Circle, choking off any contact outside the Gallows, Hawke was often the only company he had. He'd be lying to say it wasn't something of a lifeline.

And that... worried him. To Hawke, this arrangement was just a game, an amusement, or at least he treated it as such. To Orsino it was a necessity to secure a powerful ally. He was the bear whatever whims and humiliations he was subjected to for the greater good, in the stalwart knowledge that this was simply a means to an end.

He wasn't supposed to _enjoy_ it.

Perhaps 'enjoy' was the wrong word. Ciardha's visits heralded a varied mess of feelings: chiefly anxiety, at what he would have to do _this_ time and the ever-present chance of being caught. A certain sense of relief that the bargain was still ongoing, that Hawke hadn’t grown bored and called it off. Confusion as to _why_ Hawke wasn't bored yet, why he'd even wanted this in the first place. Frustration that Hawke could be so difficult to read and reason with. And underneath it all, a twisted sort of anticipation of what would happen, that in turn fuelled his shame and self-loathing. 

If this was the usual reaction when one of Hawke's visits was due, it was multiplied tenfold when he found a note slipped – no doubt by Ciardha himself – between his bedsheets. A date, a time, a message: _Surprise planned. Involves leaving Gallows, so make sure no-one will be out looking for you._

Oh Maker, not again. Hawk's last surprise had involved inviting an Antivan assassin to join them... Orsino had awoken the next day feeling both satiated and then, when his memories caught up, absolutely _mortified_ over what he'd done. He could only imagine what sort of debasement and debauchery this time would involve. Why did it have to be outside the Gallows, though? Throughout the half-year, everything had taken place in Orsino's office, they'd never ventured elsewhere. Now he wouldn't even be on his own territory... and the risk of his arrangement with Hawke being exposed was that much greater. It was a colossally bad idea, but of course he wasn't allowed to refuse, not if he wanted to keep Hawke's alliance.

The week leading up to it he was jittery, restless, desperately trying to stay nonchalant in case anyone noticed his behaviour, and unsure if he was convincing or making things worse. But in the end there weren't any suspicious questions, and Meredith regarded him with no more scrutiny than usual. The Gallows was relatively peaceful, no-one would come running for his assistance in the middle of the night, only to find him absent. When evening came he changed into plain clothes, sat at his desk shuffling paperwork to keep his hands busy, and waited.

The door never opened or closed, but sometime later the air seemed to change, as though someone were watching him. He reached out to his right as a wild guess, coming into contact with a clothed arm, and with the illusion broken he saw a figure stood where there had been only shadows before.

“You're getting better at finding me,” his tone was pleasant and casual, as though he wasn’t about to drag Orsino to Maker-knows-where, “Good evening, First Enchanter.”

“Champion,” he greeted curtly, too anxious to play nice today. He noticed folds of thick, black material slung over Ciardha's arm, “What's that?”

“Cloaks,” he was handed one, “I thought you should wear one of mine, just in case yours is recognised.”

Orsino had a fairly nondescript black cloak, but the rich velvet would have at least marked him out as one of the upper classes, so he nodded and donned the item. It was obviously made for Hawke, too long and broad for Orsino's shape, though that helped better disguise him anyway. When he pulled the hood up and over, his face was completely obscured by shadow.

“Very mysterious,” Hawke commented wryly, adjusting his own cloak, “Just keep that closed around you until I tell you otherwise, you won't need it for the entire night.”

“Where are we going?” Orsino asked, even as Hawke departed, beckoning him to follow.

“It's a surprise, remember?”

Of course. Ciardha only gave straight answers when it suited him. So he followed blindly, clinging to the shadows as Ciardha did, snatching split-second opportunities to slip by templars. He had no idea how Hawke did this on a weekly basis, by the end of it he was a nervous wreck. There was a relief that he'd made it unscathed, but he would have to do that all over again on the way back.

And he wasn't out of the woodwork yet; there were still people, guards and even the occasional templar, found wandering the streets of Kirkwall. Ciardha avoided them all with ease, leading Orsino down side alleys and between buildings as they wound their way up to Hightown.

“Hawke, _where_ are we going?” he asked again a little more desperately. Hightown was full of powerful, influential people who could ruin his reputation if they saw him.

“In here,” Hawke told him, making a sharp left turn. A small, secluded corner of the city yet nonetheless quite busy, around one building in particular. From an open window drifted warm light, purring laughter, the scents of wine, perfume and opium. Banners decorated the doors, depicting what could have been the opening petals of a flower, or something rather more inappropriate.

“ _The Blooming Rose?_ ” he hissed in sheer disbelief.

“Finest drinking establishment in the city,” Ciardha murmured, “Not that we're here to drink, mind.”

“Do you know how many templars frequent this place?!”

“Of course I do, I'm in here often enough.”

“This doesn't...” he paled as the thought occurred to him, “...Involve a templar, does it?”

Ciardha cast him a raised eyebrow, “Even I'm not that reckless. You're in no danger.”

“Then why are we _here?_ ” he demanded, but his only answer was a secretive smile. When Hawke continued on into the brothel, he had no choice but to follow.

There was a chorus of conversations, the clink of wine bottles, the jingle of exchanged coin. He recognised a few out-of-uniform templars among the crowd and swallowed nervously, trying not to catch anyone's eye. His face was hidden, but in a floor-length black cloak he stood out like a sore thumb, and several curious people turned to look. Luckily he didn't have to wait too long; whatever Hawke had requested he had paid for in advance, as he simply nodded to the Madam before leading Orsino upstairs. The scent of rose perfume was heavier up here, thick and cloying, but it didn't quite cover the undertone of skin, sweat, and something altogether more sordid. 

He still couldn't understand why Hawke had brought him here. It couldn't be just for the... atmosphere, there had to be more to it. As Hawke took him to one of the more remote rooms he half-expected to see some sort of bizarre apparatus, but found nothing of the sort: a nice rug, a few chairs, a plush bed... and sat on it, twiddling his thumbs idly, an elven prostitute.

Orsino thought for a moment that they'd walked into the wrong room, until the man spoke: “Well didn't you take your time?”

“Sorry,” Hawke waved a careless hand, the other removing his cloak, “Had to take the long way around, avoid witnesses.”

“The things we do for secrecy,” the prostitute's eyes, the most intense shade of blue Orsino had ever come across, roved over his still-disguised form, “So this is your mystery guest? Is the cloak staying on?”

“It'd make things too difficult. You can show yourself,” this last bit was aimed at Orsino as Hawke firmly closed and bolted the door behind him.

Still, Orsino hesitated. Another threesome then, he might've guessed. But the last time had been a stranger, a foreigner. This was someone who lived and worked in Kirkwall, who mingled – in a sense – with important people. That wasn't someone he wanted to entrust his identity to. “Is it... wise to involve another person?”

“'Exciting' is the word I'd use. But you don't need to worry,” he was assured. “What happens in the Rose stays in the Rose, Luisine's rules. He's been paid extra for his silence anyway, just to be sure.”

he still wasn't happy about this, but he didn't have the luxury of refusal. Not that this made him any less fearful, and it was with trembling fingers that he reached up, pulling back the hood of his cloak.

“Aren't you...” the prostitute squinted, then realisation dawned, “'World's dishiest First Enchanter' Orsino? _Well,_ ” he cast a glance at Ciardha, “Well done.”

“Thank you,” Ciardha sounded perfectly smug about it.

“I'll have to make an extra special effort for _you,_ ” the other elf told Orsino, his voice a sultry purr, “Welcome to the Rose, Ser Enchanter. My name is Jethann.”

“Jethann is going to do indescribably wicked things to you all night,” Ciardha murmured from behind him. Clever hands slipped over his shoulders, unfastening the cloak and taking it away. Without his usual array of belted and buckled layers he felt strangely exposed, vulnerable.

Something Jethann picked on: “Are you nervous? You look... tense, and not in the way I'd prefer.” He hummed thoughtfully, “How about a massage? Never fails to unwind someone.”

A note of panic trilled through him. 'Massage' in brothels meant full body, meant someone running their hands all over him. “I – I'm not sure...”

“Just your neck and shoulders? No harm in that, is there?” Ciardha suggested, his tone innocuous, almost suspiciously so. He couldn't trust the man not to have some perverse ulterior motive, but what other choice did he have?

“I suppose not...”

While Jethann busied himself fetching oils, Ciardha's arms slipped over his shoulders again, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. “You really _are_ tense,” was spoken right against his ear, in the signature silken tone that made Orsino shiver in... fear? It had to be fear. He refused to acknowledge it as anything else. “Don't worry yourself. It's not so different to the time with Zevran.”

“That was in my quarters, with no chance of being caught.”

“I know you're outside your comfort zone. Literally. But Jethann doesn't do house calls, and I wouldn't entrust you to anyone else.” Lips were pressed against the shell of his ear and he swayed, just a little, before adamantly correcting himself.

“Then why go through all this? Can't you just be content with – with _normal_ things?” Normal as far as their arrangement went, anyway.

“Of course not, that would be boring. Besides, you're too good not to share.”

He had no idea what to make of that, “You say such things...”

A low, amused chuckle was his reply, before the open shirt was slid back off his shoulders, leaving his torso bare. The touch at his waist was unexpected, almost electric, fingers lingering at the small of his back as Hawke guided him to sit on a cushioned stool. He was so distracted by it that he barely noticed Jethann bustle back over, rubbing oil between his hands to warm it before applying it to Orsino's shoulders.

The first touch was... not as bad as he had expected, a simple kneading notion that worked the oil into his skin but was otherwise chaste. The fragrance – roses, naturally – permeated the air, though it was less sickly than whatever cheap perfume they sprayed around by the gallon here. Lighter, fresher. He could almost pretend he wasn't even in a brothel. His career choice was his own, but it was a shame Jethann worked in a place like this, he could have made a perfectly good living as an ordinary masseuse. Under his skilled hands, it wasn't long before Orsino felt his tense, knotted muscles begin to ease, shoulders dipping slightly.

“Not being too rough, am I?” the other elf asked soothingly.

“No, I like-” he bit down on his lip before he could say anything suggestive. “It's fine. Good, I mean. Like this.”

“Then perhaps you'd like a little more?” Hawke offered silkily, kneeling in front of him, reaching out.

His eyes widened, “What are you-?”

“Foot massage,” the rogue answered lightly, pulling off Orsino's boots. His tone steepened into a sultry purr, “Why, what did you think I meant?”

He flushed, “Nothing.”

“As you say.” Damn that smirk of his. Damn everything about him; his wicked words, his unfathomable mind, his prying hands – oh Maker, his _hands-_

“Oh, I think he likes that,” he heard Jethann comment from somewhere above him, only he wasn't really paying attention because Hawke was doing _things_ to one of his feet. This was... he could hardly call it sexual but it felt that way. With the narrow, fine-boned structure cradled in his palms he stroked both thumbs upward, along the arch, and Orsino's toes curled instinctively at the sensation. This wasn't how foot massage was supposed to go, was it? He'd heard it was soothing, but this was something else altogether.

“Sensitive feet,” Ciardha murmured seemingly to himself, as though filing the information away for later, “Pass that oil, would you?”

No, no he couldn't do this, he couldn't allow himself any pleasure. “I don't – I don't think we should-”

“You weren't kidding when you said he was skittish,” Jethann dryly commented to Hawke, handing the bottle of oil over. His next words were to Orsino: “You don't need to panic, he won't hurt you. Double the massage means half the time you take to relax, see?”

“But-” his next words were cut off as Ciardha's hands, now fragranced and slick, ran again along his foot. Oil was smoothed across the top of his feet, then between the toes, then along the bottom with just the right amount of pressure, chasing away any lingering soreness from being on his feet all day. It was like having his ears played with, each touch sent a wave of lazy satisfaction through him. 

Unthinkingly he leaned back against Jethann, who made an amused little sound and started work on his shoulders again. The sensations spiralled down his spine, the lingering aches dispelled. When Ciardha switched to his other foot he could've purred like a contented cat. He was still aware, however distantly, that he should be fighting any enjoyment, but it was difficult when it just felt so _good._ Even Jethann sliding his hands up the back of his neck – which ordinarily would have raised his hackles – only left him feeling further subdued. His eyes fluttered shut; he could've drifted off, except...

Except that wondrous thing Ciardha was doing to each of his toes, coupled with Jethann's fingers creeping up behind his ears, sent a shock of pleasure through him that wasn't strictly platonic. The stimulus from either end had decided to meet in the middle, so to speak. And whatever the opinion of his mind, his body was _very_ appreciative of the attention. 

He let out an undignified squawk and hastened to cover himself... or would've, if nimble hands from both perpetrators hadn't lashed out with equal speed, snatching up his wrists.

“No need to be embarrassed,” Jethann purred against his ear.

“Perfectly normal reaction,” Hawke chorused, the clever glint in his eye suggesting this was his intention all along. 

“I really don't think-” he stopped, breath hitching as Ciardha let go of his wrists, dipping lower to skim at his inner thigh. Not outright touching him, but close enough to make him twitch.

“Think? You don't need to think,” the rogue reminded him, even as those idly tracing fingers sent his thoughts into overdrive, “You just need to enjoy yourself.”

Before Orsino could answer that Ciardha leaned down, the warmth of his breath felt even through the material of his trousers. Any words he might've had were abruptly halted, and he could only stare as the Champion nuzzled at the laced fastening. Delicately he bit down on one loose end and then, never breaking eye contact, pulled back, tugging the knot loose.

Orsino thought he might've said “ _Maker,_ ” but he wasn't too sure.

He felt Jethann lean over him, observing the scene with less enthralment, more amusement, “Is that you stealing one of my party tricks?”

Ciardha let the lace drop from his mouth, lips quirking shamelessly. “You have enough tricks to host your own carnival, you can afford to share one or two.”

“Tch, fair enough,” hands rubbed at Orsino's shoulders, “You've gone and undone all my hard work, though. He's tensed like a wound spring.”

The smirk widened, “Well, let's see what we can do about that.”

Fingers hooked into his breeches, tugging the material downwards until – here Orsino flushed horribly in embarrassment – his cock sprang free, already half-hard. From there Ciardha used his hands to brace himself but nothing more, relying only on his mouth as he leaned in and flicked his tongue over the very tip. A strangled gasp escaped him, and it was only with the sudden release of pressure in his lungs that Orsino realised he'd been holding his breath.

The last – and so far only – time Ciardha had given him a blowjob had been during the threesome with Zevran. It had been a skilled but relatively brisk affair, a necessity to warm him up to the idea of another person. He couldn’t imagine the man agreeing to it in any other circumstance; there was a certain subservience to the act that defied everything Ciardha was. 

This, though... this wasn't a necessity. He could have ordered the prostitute to do it, or just skipped the foreplay altogether since it wasn't like Orsino could protest. But here he was between Orsino's legs, licking away without a hint of coyness. A few times around the rapidly reddening head, lapping at the slit, then leaning further in to drag the flat of his tongue against the underside... Orsino tried to suppress any noises but couldn’t help it, little gasps and groans kept escaping him. When Jethann's hitherto forgotten hands slid down and pinched one of his nipples he almost keened, biting down on his knuckle to help stifle the sound.

“Hands by your sides,” Ciardha commanded softly and Orsino did so, hopelessly obedient, fingers gripping the edges of the stool beneath him. Jethann licked a stripe up the side of his neck and he squirmed, not out of revulsion but arousal. The notion of two people attending him was exciting, daring, wild and... and indecent and amoral and he shouldn't be enjoying this. He should've felt cheap – well, he did. But feeling cheap also meant feeling good.

It was difficult choosing who to concentrate on: Ciardha resumed his task, sealing his lips around the head of the cock while his tongue swirled lasciviously within. Meanwhile Jethann nipped a his ear, all the while lazily tweaking and rolling a nipple between his fingers. When both areas were thoroughly played with and verging on sore he switched sides, repeating the whole process. It felt _exquisite,_ and equally agonising because he couldn't deny his pleasure now. His entire body trembled, toes curling, fingers clenching white-knuckled. And his cock, gradually swallowed up by that elusive mouth, grew ever nearer to its release... 

“Hawke,” he choked out at last. He wanted his climax, but coming in Ciardha's mouth without permission seemed like a spectacularly bad idea, “I'm close.”

Ciardha pulled back, affixing him with an amused look, “Close to what?”

Ah, of course. The man delighted in making him say shameful things. He squirmed all the same. “To – to finishing.”

“Finishing what? We've barely begun.”

“Insufferable tease,” this was spoken not by Orsino but Jethann, and accompanied with a clucking tongue, “And you'll want to get on with it or he won't have time to get worked up again. If you think he can manage two, that is.”

Orsino's eyes widened at that, “Two... finishes?” he asked hesitantly.

Jethann gave him what could only be described as a reassuring grope, if such a thing existed, “Don't worry sweetheart. We'll take good care of you – both of us.”

“Indeed,” Ciardha murmured, lowering his head again.

Wait, he wasn't – he wasn't going to let Orsino – not inside his mouth, surely? That didn't seem like the kind of thing Ciardha would do... Maker damn it, every time he thought he had even just a little piece of Hawke figured out, the man turned around and did completely the opposite-

Oh.

_Oh._

Orsino didn't have much basis for comparison with blowjobs – it wasn't like he'd received many of them in his lifetime – but he was certain this ranked at the top end of the scale. Lips formed in a tight seal around the head and moved downwards, the pace slow enough to suspend him on the very brink of orgasm. On the way back up Hawke's cheeks hollowed, a delicious suction that sent Orsino's mind into utter disarray. It was just as well he was sitting down, there was no way his legs could've supported him now. He probably would've fallen off the chair if Jethann hadn't stooped to lock his arms around him, idly petting Orsino's stomach as he watched the events with interest. The mage shivered under his touch, another addition to the pleasure pooling at his groin and threatening to overflow, building, building-

“ _Please,_ ” he choked out.

And Ciardha gave a deep, throaty moan that travelled straight into Orsino's cock and toppled him over the edge. He couldn't suppress his cry as he came, the release so intense it left him reeling. Every muscle in his body went painfully rigid – and then abruptly relaxed, leaving him practically dead weight. Ciardha waited until he had softened before drawing back, pulled a face at the taste on his tongue but dutifully swallowed.

“-Help me move him to the bed,” Ciardha's voice was distant, barely registering to his tired mind, “Might as well do this while he's good and relaxed.”

“So long as he doesn't fall asleep.” Arms hooked around him from either side, lifted and helped him wobble over to the bed. He was lain on his stomach, grasped the waistband of his breeches and tugged them the rest of the way down, leaving him fully exposed. He ought to have been embarrassed, but he was simply too drowsy to care.

“I think that's the first time I've seen you give head,” he heard Jethann comment, “I always thought you hated doing it.”

“I do. But such compromises have to be made.”

“You could have asked me though. I mean, you are paying me.”

“He'd have been less comfortable with it. I thought it best to put him at ease.”

“Is that you being _thoughtful,_ Ciardha? Never thought I'd see the day.”

Hawke scoffed, “I think you're giving me too much credit. He's no good to me fearful and tensed up. I do it out of practicality, nothing more.”

He could hear the grin in Jethann's voice, “Mm-hm. Whatever you say.”

“Less snark, more help. Since you're so eager to partake, you can prep him for me.”

An oiled finger circled and pushed against his entrance; he gave a groan and half-hearted wriggle of protest, but Ciardha's hand on the dip of his back stilled him. The finger pressed on, careful but insistent, until it was seated up to the knuckle. It curled inwards, scraping against his prostate, sending a twitch of over-stimulation through him. So soon after his last orgasm, it was closer to pain than pleasure, and he hissed sharply between his teeth.

“Steady now,” the hand on his back rubbed slow, soothing circles into his skin. If he didn't know the man any better, he would've said Hawke was comforting him... which was preposterous of course, he would never do that. It was probably just his signal for Orsino to stop whining. 

He lay sprawled helplessly as one finger became two, became three, became... four? That was odd, he'd never had more than three fingers used before, that was adequate preparation. The confusion chased away his drowsiness, and with clear thought came the all too familiar guilt that he had given into lust again. The difference was, usually Ciardha left shortly after they'd both finished up, and he could have his self berating sessions in privacy. Now the shame was already there and he hadn't even been fucked yet. He was in for even more humiliation than usual.

His cock stirred with interest, to which his mind was suitably appalled. That was... that was just Jethann brushing over his prostate. Yes, stimulation. Nothing more.

“I think he's about ready. Be a dear and fetch the plug for me, would you?”

 _Plug?_ He didn't like the sound of that. He tried turning around to see what was going on, but the movement proved difficult with practically a whole hand inside you. After a few fruitless attempts he gave up, burying his face in the assortment of pillows and awaiting whatever horrors were about to come.

The fingers withdrew, replaced by something smooth and rounded. Not a cock but something cool to the touch, ceramic perhaps... and _big,_ he quickly realised as the tip entered him, broadening into an almost conical shape. It didn't hurt thanks to all the preparation and slick, but it felt so strange, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Just when he started worrying about the size the widest part slipped by, the rest sliding neatly into place. A flared base kept it trapped inside and ensured, much to his relief, that it could be easily pulled out again.

“Very good,” Ciardha praised, stroking along his spine, “Can you sit up?”

He did so, and abruptly realised the sheer weight of the thing, solid ceramic as it was. It almost dropped back out of him but that great girth held it in place. Inside, the tip of it nudged his prostate, but the texture was too smooth to provide any real stimulation. He wasn't sure whether to be frustrated or thankful.

“Best to keep that in you for a bit. Get you nice and stretched,” Jethann instructed. He was about to ask _for what?_ Since really, Ciardha was generous but not monstrously proportioned, but the man talked over him:

“Well, since we've sent so much time tending to you, how about you return the favour? We haven't even been touched yet.”

Ah, so the humiliation was to start already, “What do you want me to do?”

“Come and sit at the edge of the bed...” he fidgeted but did so, squirming as the plug pressed a little deeper into him, to Ciardha's amusement. “...Now, suck Jethann off.”

“What?! But – he's a-” he bit down on his lip, wondering how to phrase it. Best to just be honest. “He's a prostitute,” he mumbled uncomfortably, “What if – I don't want to catch anything.”

Ciardha looked distinctly unimpressed, “Zevran was practically a whore, I didn't hear you complaining then.”

Whereas Jethann, who was apparently used to this kind of concern, tutted and nudged Hawke with his elbow. “Nothing wrong with being health-conscious. Having said that-” he affixed Orsino with another kind smile, “-I'm clean. I went to the Darktown clinic just this afternoon, and I've had a free schedule since then.”

At the impatient tapping of Hawke's fingers against the bedpost, Orsino sighed and raised his hands to untie Jethann's trousers, but still hesitated. It wasn't that he wished to insult Jethann, he was a perfectly nice person, but... well, he _was_ a prostitute. Even clean, he was reluctant to touch flesh that was shared and sold like a common item.

As if reading his mind, Ciardha snorted and said: “Orsino, I've had more mouths down there than he has. Stop worrying and get on with it.” At Orsino's startled look, he added: “I've seen that look enough times to know when you're having an inner moral debate. Put it out of your mind.”

It wasn't quite so easy as that, but Hawke did have a point, based on his own sordid reputation. If sleeping with someone meant sharing everyone _they'd_ ever slept with, Orsino had indirectly fucked most of Kirkwall. Which was actually rather mortifying, come to think of it.

“Oh, look at that expression. It's alright sweetheart, I won't be offended if you don't want to.”

“Come on Jethann, how often do you get paid to _receive_ a blowjob? Besides, he likes sucking cock.” When Orsino gave an indignant splutter, Hawke patted his reddening cheek fondly, “Won't admit it, but he does.”

Trying and failing to contain his embarrassed flush, Orsino pulled down the trousers enough to reveal no underwear – of course – just a waiting cock, still fairly soft. While Jethann wasn't demanding, he imagined Ciardha wouldn't be too pleased if he refused his task, so he pushed his ethics aside, for now. He leaned in to lick at the tip gingerly and then, when he found only the taste of clean skin, increased his efforts. The head rose and swelled in response, gleaming with saliva as it dipped in and out of his mouth.

“Maker, I love watching you with other people.” If he glanced over, he could watch himself being watched, with a keen interest that left him flustered. “Here, pet his hair. He likes that.”

Jethann's slim fingers wound into his hair, massaging his scalp with the same expertise from earlier. The touch sent shivers down Orsino's spine; almost instinctively he dipped further, taking more length into his mouth and earning a pleased hum. His eyes sought Ciardha's – so dark that his pupil could not be discerned, nor any accurate reading of emotion. But he did look... pleased.

“He likes performing for you too,” Jethann murmured, gently tugging on the hair to keep Orsino's head tipped back, “But don't you think it's time you joined in?”

Clothes were unfastened with due haste, and then there were two cocks before him. There was the brief resonating of shame, _you're servicing two men at once like a cheap-_ but he shoved the thought aside, he'd done no worse before with Zevran. Pulling away from Jethann, lips still wet and reddened, he switched over to the darker, larger cock, its shape so familiar to him by now.

“Isn't he wonderful?” Ciardha sighed, stroking Orsino's ear. He wondered if he was meant to hear the words, directed at Jethann as they were, “So much more than I expected. He surprises me even now.”

“Which would explain why he's out-lasted all your other conquests, you tend to tire of them quickly.” There came a suppressed groan as Orsino switched again, pushing forwards until the cock hit the back of his throat, “You've been spending – _ah_ – a lot of time with him, I see.”

“However did you guess? Orsino pull back, I want to try something.” When the mage did so he guided himself and Jethann together, their tips pressed side by side, then forwards past Orsino's lips.

He scrambled back at once, “What are you doing?!”

“Double blowjob.” And at his scandalised expression: Oh come now First Enchanter, it hardly warrants such shock.” Hawke gave a meaningful glance down, “You can't tell me you haven't enjoyed yourself so far.”

He was, in fact, noticeably hard. When he gasped and tucked his legs together, Ciardha snickered. 

“Oh don't laugh!” Jethann tutted at him. “I think it’s sweet. There's nothing wrong with pleasure in submission. You feel good about making _us_ feel good... everybody wins, really.”

Tentatively, he shifted back to the edge of the bed. Now that Hawke had pointed out his arousal he was acutely aware of it, his body stirring with more vigour than an old man should've possessed. Maybe he really _would_ climax twice in one night, though he wasn't sure how enjoyable his second time would be.

With a quick glance up at Hawke he stooped forwards again, tongue flicking side to side over the tips. They both leaked pre-come, both salty and tangy yet distinguishably different, the flavours mingling strangely. When he felt a little braver he opened his mouth wide, lips stretched as he took them both within.

“ _Gorgeous._ ” Orsino hardly thought so, with his cheeks no doubt protruding and saliva dripping down his chin, but in Ciardha's expression he found only genuine desire, and even Jethann looked heated. He couldn't fit any more in, nor move of his own accord, instead passively allowing the two to shallowly thrust in and out. The erratic rhythm hampered his breathing, however, and eventually he had to stop for air.

“About time to move on anyway. He should be nicely loosened by now,” Jethann declared, “Just need to figure out who's going where...”

“I'll be underneath. I want to see his face.” They were, Orsino assumed, talking about him, but it felt as though he was missing some important detail. What were they planning?

“Over here, First Enchanter,” Ciardha situated himself on the bed, reclining like an artists muse, and beckoned Orsino over. Tentatively he crawled above the sprawled frame until they were face to face. Ciardha's impossibly dark eyes glittered up at him with... anticipation? He honestly couldn't tell.

Behind him, Jethann leaned over and gently pulled out the plug, guiding Hawke's still-slick cock into its place before he could close up again. Was that Jethann's penultimate task, a helper and observer? It didn't add up. They'd done a few new things over the evening, but having an experienced prostitute, all this careful preparation and warming up... it all pointed towards some big finale, but he couldn't think what it might be.

“Eyes on me,” Ciardha instructed him, a hand on Orsino's hip stilling his slow, rocking motions. There was a small, almost imperceptible nod towards Jethann, who climbed up behind Orsino and-

When he felt a second cock nudge against his entrance, he almost fell off the bed. “Wh-what are you _doing?!_ ”

Ciardha grinned up at him, “Surprise.”

“ _This_ is what you had planned?!” At his distress, Jethann wisely opted not to push in any further. But he could still feel the tip against him, against a hole already filled. “This is – it's _depraved!_ ”

This earned him an eye-roll, as though he'd just pointed out that Kirkwall was brown. “You act as though that's a bad thing.”

“It _is_ a bad thing, just because you have a warped sense of morality-” why was he even trying to reason with him? “No. No, I can't do this.” Intent on stopping and getting out of this place, he began lifting himself off Ciardha.

Or would've, if Ciardha's hands hadn't firmly clamped him in place. “How many times have you said 'can't' to me, Orsino?”

The mere mention of all the things Hawke had made him do brought a heat to his cheeks; he scowled to cover it, “This is going too far.” He tried prying off Hawke's hands to no avail, remaining seated with the length still deep inside him.

“That's what you thought all those other times. But you overcame your boundaries,” Hawke reminded him patiently, ignoring the escape attempts, “And you liked it. Haven't I always made sure of that?”

“You never asked me to – to do anything like this.”

“Of course not, it would've frightened you off. But you've come so far, already shared yourself with another, taken us both in your mouth...” as Orsino's struggles lessened so did Hawke's grip on him. One hand trailed up to stroke his throat, over the nervously fluttering pulse, “Is this really that much worse?”

He swallowed harshly, his earlier conviction swiftly seeping away, “I...”

“And I'll make it feel good. You know I will,” Ciardha pushed himself up, stealing a kiss. Against Orsino's lips he murmured: “You're so beautiful when you're enjoying yourself. I want to see that again.”

Why could he shove away all the desire demons in the Fade, but not the one before him? All he had to do was say no. Force his lips to form the shape, and put an end to all this. But the action wouldn’t come.

“Please?”

That single, breathy word undid him: “...Alright.”

He expected to hear some condescending praise, along the lines of _good boy._ Instead he got, “Thank you.”

Above him, Jethann cleared his throat politely, “Personal drama over with, darlings?”

Ciardha hummed, looping his arms around his lover's torso, “We're good. Keep your eyes open, Orsino.”

He badly wanted to just bury his face somewhere, but of course, he complied. Cheeks were flushed, eyes unfocused, mouth dropping open slightly as a nudge became a push, the second cock straining to fit inside. He understood the plug now, and while that had felt massive at first it was nothing compared to this. It wasn't painful thanks to Jethann's care, but he could feel himself being stretched to the limit, opened up.

“That's it, that's it...” Hawke was muttering, eyes trained on Orsino's face the entire time. His hands stroked along the elf's back, tracing the bumps of his spine. The second pair of hands, Jethann's, were gripping his hips for support; faintly trembling, and he could hear the pant of exertion from above, but he hardly paid attention. Too focused on the length within him, gods it felt nothing like the plug, hot and thick and _pulsing_ alongside Ciardha's.

“Last few inches – there. How's it for you, Jethann? Tight?”

There was a breathless laugh, “Tight.”

“Probably makes a nice change, in your line of work,” was the smirking reply before he turned his attention to the man sandwiched between them: “Congratulations Enchanter, you've popped your double cherry. What's it feel like?”

He wasn't entirely coherent at the moment, so he settled for making a strangled whimper.

“I'll take that as a 'good'. Start moving, Jethann.”

 _No you can't, it's too much-_ but he'd already drawn back, sliding against Ciardha inside Orsino's body and then pressing back in again. His whine became a full cry, swallowed up as Hawke pulled him in for a deep kiss. Fingers danced up his spine, the back of his neck to tangle in his hair.

“So good,” Hawke rasped when he finally pulled back, leaving them both struggling for air, “ _So_ good, if you could see yourself now, Orsino...”

“H-Hawke,” he managed to say, and that earned him another savage, bruising kiss. Jethann's motions made their teeth click together but Ciardha didn't seem to mind. The pace changed, deep thrusts that slammed all the way in each time and ground Hawke's cock up against his prostate. Between that and the friction of his own dick against Ciardha's skin – helped along only by sweat – Orsino knew he wouldn't last long.

He came almost violently with a hand in his hair, a tongue in his mouth, and two cocks in his ass. 

Jethann finished shortly after, with a deep groan that actually sounded genuine instead of the usual prostitute theatrics. And Ciardha, by some crazy willpower Orsino would never comprehend, rutted within him using Jethann's spill as extra lubricant until he could add his own to the mix. There was no keening cry or shout, there never was, but his chest heaved with great ragged breaths and his eyes glazed over. It was as intense an orgasm as Orsino had ever seen from him.

“You,” he said at last, “Are _magnificent._ ”

Jethann answered, voice hoarse but still wry, “Is that aimed at me or him?”

“Both of you. Expect a bonus,” Hawke idly bumped his leg against Jethann's. “That was... even better than I had imagined it to be. And I have an excellent imagination.”

“I love my job,” Jethann sighed, though winced slightly at the tenderness when he extracted himself, “Oh, ooh. Just as well I don't have any more clients tonight, though.”

Ciardha laughed, delighted, “Hear that, Orsino? You've satiated Jethann the nymphomaniac. Pity you can't brag about it, hm?”

The rest of the night was largely a blur. He was vaguely aware of the others' amusement, a few smart comments. Of hands cleaning him up with a damp cloth, careful, _gentle._ He couldn't see who it was and decided it must be Jethann, because Ciardha was never so considerate. And then he was re-dressed, on his feet and following Ciardha back outside, where the Kirkwall breeze finally snapped him out of his stupor.

“There you are,” Ciardha commented, noticing his lucidity, “I was wondering when you'd come around.”

“Wh – I-” he struggled. What did you _say_ after something like that? “What just happened?”

A raised eyebrow, “Jethann fucked the memory right out of you? That's a new one.”

“No, I remember-” Everything. In _great_ detail. He fell quiet, glad for the hood hiding his reddened face. “I remember,” he repeated in a mutter.

“Well as a refresher, _that_ -” Hawke took his arm, leading him down the deserted streets, “-Was one of the best things I've ever experienced. If only I had the funds to do that every night.”

He shuddered at the thought. It had been enjoyable – _traitor_ , his Dignity whispered – but not something he would do often unless he was deliberately seeking an early grave. Unlike Hawke he was neither young nor particularly virile, and the evening had taken its toll. It was all he could do not to pass out from exhaustion.

Hawke seemed to sense this. “Just a little further,” he murmured, detouring around templar patrols as they approached the docks. He hijacked a boat and rowed them both across to the Gallows with an energy that left Orsino feeling incredulous. And very old.

That wasn't helped when Ciardha escorted him back to his quarters and saw him to bed. And sat by him as he lay in the dark, slowly stroking his brow. Gentle hands.

“You make no sense,” Orsino mumbled sleepily.

He could just about make out Ciardha's smirk. The last thing he heard before sleep claimed him: “I like it that way.”


End file.
